


Help

by jo2ukes



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), Hurt/Comfort, Multi, also feat. constantly sleeping varric, cole is a shining light in our lives and we don't deserve him, feat. ur (my) fave demiromantics, slight sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:10:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jo2ukes/pseuds/jo2ukes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She didn’t see the tears in your eyes as you turned away. She didn’t know you counted them as they fell, the ocean inside you drying up and withering." </p><p>"You are the one who thinks. You are in charge but he doesn’t listen. You are the one who thinks but as fast as your mind runs it can’t catch up in to save him. He knew you before guilt perched on your shoulder, dug in its claws, refused to leave and forced you to grow to become strong enough to carry it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Iron Bull

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna leave this bullavellan fic here... i luv the iron bull, i luv the fact that school is out, and hopefully i will be here to provide more fluffy iron bull stuff this summer!! this fic features my main quizzy- maiera lavellan- but i also rly wanted to focus on bull too bc godDAMN y'all he's so underrated  
> (and also i have to apologize bc i'm obsessed w/ writing about dreams & these two scenes take place on different nights but i'm a sucker for campfire confessions in the dead of night sooooo)

They’ve been getting worse—a fact he hates to admit and one that he won’t, at least not out loud. He peels the blanket from his skin. It’s freezing tits, but the prickling air makes him feel real. This is real. He’s awake. 

His heart is still pounding in his chest, but he looks to the figure sleeping next to him. She’s there. She’s safe and somehow that tells him that he’s safe too. The sounds of their modest campsite float to his ears. The fire is well tended to, crackling quietly only a few feet away. It’s plenty dark, there’s still a few hours until dawn. Varric’s snores can be heard distinctly—perhaps it’s his training that helps him pick up on things like that. Enemies are weakest when they’re sleeping and whatnot, but he almost wishes he could tune it out every once and a while. 

With a groan he stands, draping his share of the blankets over Maiera’s sleeping form, and shuffles closer to the fire. His fingers are numb. Stupid desert—blistering hot in the day and unbearably cold in the evening. Sand manages to get in his boots every day. Even worse it makes its way into whatever fresh wound he manages to get. It’s like the desert was created to be purposefully the worst climate in existence.

“You’re awake,” Cole greets him, sitting on the opposite side of the fire. Bull hadn’t noticed him there before, damn left eye.

“Observant,” Bull laughs. He’s glad of the kid’s company. Being left to his own thoughts after dreams like that was never a particularly pleasant experience. Then again, it’s only a matter of time before his mind gets probed around in—so really, he still is alone with his thoughts, they’re just there for Cole to see too. Great. “Don’t you want sleep? I can take watch,” he offers.

“I don’t sleep.” Cole bites his lip. “Vasaad is loud tonight.”

They didn’t have any extra firewood—only what they’d brought from Skyhold, because of course the damn frigid desert doesn’t have any trees, and they rationed it out. It was a little odd that this fire seemed so natural when he knew it was magic—it didn’t go out and he didn’t trust it. “I’ll tell him to tone it down,” Bull scoffs, prodding at the fire.

“No, I didn’t mean—” Cole starts. “I can help. I know Vasaad bothers you at night. He’s why you can’t sleep. He knew you when you were Ashkaari. You are the one who thinks. You are in charge but he doesn’t listen. You are the one who thinks but as fast as your mind runs it can’t catch up in to save him. He knew you before guilt perched on your shoulder, dug in its claws, refused to leave and forced you to grow to become strong enough to carry it. But you don’t have to carry it, The Iron Bull, you can let go. You can forget.”  
Friends were a luxury under the Qun. They had words for these bonds—or really, one word. What is Qunlat if not precise. When he started learning the Common Tongue, the words felt like too much in his mouth, like he was spitting up instead of conveying meaning. But for all the extra words, he finally found one that fit Vasaad. 

Vasaad was kadan, sure, but that wasn’t quite the right equivalent. A Qunlat word describing something so easily cast aside doesn’t seem to fit Vasaad’s memory. The Qun had taught him he could live without his heart—at times, demanded it. But he can’t. It may very well be his downfall, but try as he might, he can’t live without his heart. The dreams are a testimony to that. The Chargers are a testimony to that. Maiera is a testimony to that. Vasaad was Bull’s heart, but he was also his arm, his support. His brother.

“Something like that,” Bull says, looking at Cole’s sad face, “… It’s not as easy as forgetting. I don’t want to forget.”

“But it hurts you.”

“Sometimes pain is the only way you know you’re alive, kid,” Bull smirks. “Not all pain is bad. It hurts because he meant something.”

“I think I understand,” Cole whispers. “…You’re afraid you’ll start having dreams about her,” Cole cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowed. “Green shards decorate her palm, her wrist, her veins. It’s killing her. Shit, it’s killing her, not her, please. You’re Ashkaari, you’re the one who thinks. You’re Hissrad, you’re the one who doesn’t hesitate. You’re The Iron Bull. She’s Kadan, she’s gentle where you’re rough, she fits into the space in your arms but she’s a refuge, she’s a beacon. She’s part of the heart that you’ve refused to give up.”

Bull glances over at Maiera. Creepy as it is that Cole is digging into his head, deeper and deeper with every passing moment, its creepier still how damn accurate his findings are. Even without the Qun, he might be asked to live without his heart, and that’s what he fears the most. There are too many variables. Too many things he can’t control, too many things he can’t forsee or plan for, too many things he can’t protect her from.

“Tama, I’ve failed in my purpose,” Cole cuts into his thoughts. “Her heart sinks as he says the words. He’s so tall now, so different from the boy she held in her lap. She wraps her arms around him. Her arms are safety. He’s smart but the Qun doesn’t let him understand it wasn’t his fault. You cannot always protect, Ashkaari. It isn’t your fault. Things slip through the cracks, people slip through the cracks but your arms are safety and if you hold on tight enough your touch heals the burning, keeps the shards at bay. You are her heart, and so long as you exist, nothing can touch her.”

“That’s…” he doesn’t know what to say. “I appreciate it, kid.”

“It’s not much help,” Cole sighs, “I wish I could help more.”

He can’t find the words, but the sentiment is rattling around in his brain somewhere. If he knows Cole, the kid is still digging around—he’ll find the words that Bull can’t say: thank you.


	2. Maiera

The campfire crackles and her eyes burn, heavy with sleep, but there are still fifty pages left in her book and it’s not like her mind can rest anyway. Lately, nights have been restless. She technically has the first watch, so it’s just as well.

Bull is asleep beside her, his hand resting lightly on her thigh. Her eyes drift from the page to his fingers, his hand, and her own fingers trace the thin silvery scars that pattern his skin.

“His scars you can see, but yours are hidden.”

“Cole,” Maiera says, jumping a little. Cole sits beside her, drawing his legs to his chest and hugging them. “Shouldn’t you be getting rest?”

“No, I don’t need it. And your hurt is too loud when the sun goes down.”

“Fair enough,” she sighs, putting her book down. Cole’s timing is, for once, impeccable. Everyone else is asleep—Varric turned in long ago and Bull’s soft snores assure her that he’s not faking as he sometimes does. She’s had the unfortunate experience of Cole digging around in the more private corners of her mind, laying them out for everyone. She’d survived the embarrassment of a rather intimate moment being walked in on by Cullen, Josephine, and Cassandra—thanks to Bull she was able to laugh it all off. But somehow hearing her own thoughts and feelings about the intimate moments she shared with Bull come out of Cole’s mouth in great and precise detail was more than she could bear, not that Varric gave her grief for it beyond an occasional joke. She works to censor those thoughts now, as though exposing Cole to them corrupts him. 

Otherwise, she’s always unguarded around Cole—something goes against her best judgement and tells her that she can trust him. Perhaps the similarities between the two of them were too obvious—he was a wanderer. He only wanted to help but he had no place until the Inquisition took him in. Lately, with the correspondence from Keeper Istimaethorial, her thoughts are a mess and Cole with his strange way is sure to be able to untangle the knots in her head, even if she doesn’t quite understand how. So this time, he’s truly welcome to dig around. There’s no one to overhear things that she’s trying not to show—Cole means well but he has no knack for secrecy.

“I’m sorry it’s managed to keep the both of us awake,” she smiles softly.

“You feel guilty because you don’t miss them,” Cole avoids her eyes, staring into the fire. His voice starts quiet as it always does. “They’re your family, but when you cried no one heard you. They loved you, but their words always hurt.” 

A pause. 

‘You don’t belong here’ but what she meant to say was ‘You won’t remain here,’ she didn’t see the tears in your eyes as you turned away. She didn’t know you counted them as they fell, the ocean inside you drying up and withering. And now we are your clan, not them, and the ocean is back.”

“The Keeper,” Maiera breathes. “I thought you had to meet someone to be able to read them?”

“She writes you letters,” Cole says, “I can see her mind in her writing. There’s sadness on the page, but there’s also pride. Her feelings are like a mirror to your own, but reversed. You don’t miss them… but you miss her. Why don’t you write back?”

“I do!” Maiera protests, but she knows it’s not true. Josephine pens them, Maiera only gives her a general sentiment to go off of. Maiera give the orders, acting as she knows best for her clan, but also choosing to be as distanced as possible. Of course the Keeper is able to tell the difference. And Cole is able to see through her lie.

“It’s not as simple as writing a letter, Da’mi,” she sighs. “The Keeper writes because I’m now in a position to help the clan instead of placing them in danger as I did before. I think I am beyond repairing any bond, I am only to make up for past wrongs.”

“But she isn’t angry, she is proud! She doesn’t want you to come back. Not because she doesn’t miss you but because she knows she can’t.”

“She… can’t?”

“You followed her, drowning and empty, chained down by duty. She thought she was the one holding the chain and so she dropped it. And now your lungs are light and clear and your heart is happy enough to beat out of your chest and when she hears this, her heart grows wings too. But she is afraid to let her heart fly too close to yours, she doesn’t know the chain never existed, she is afraid that she might pick it up again and lead you back to drown.” Cole looks at her for a moment, his gentle gaze sending a chill down her spine. 

“Then I’ll write to her,” Maiera says, ignoring the tears pricking her eyes. She attempts to adjust to the strange weighted feeling of someone else’s pride on her shoulders.

“He’s proud of you too, you know. He doesn’t say it, the words are too heavy on his tongue. Foreign, dusty, like a language he’s forgotten. He wants to, he even says it without even knowing, though sometimes the message gets mixed—he says it when his eyes look to you returning from battle, he says it with each celebratory drink tipped in your direction, he says it to you when he visits you in the healer’s wing, he even says it when he calls you Kadan. A word, a title, bestowed on so few people, but you’re worthy.”   
She squeezes Bull’s hand a little tighter, her free hand brushing away a tear that managed to escape, much to her embarrassment.

“You’re crying,” Cole breathes gently, “but it feels like I helped. I hope I helped.” She gives him a smile. 

“You’ve helped very much, Da’mi,” she whispers, pulling him into a one armed hug. “You always help.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me at jo2ukes.tumblr.com :)


End file.
